Take Me To Church
by Pirate Gyrl
Summary: Wesley receives a package under his door about a man that knew his father. He sets out to find him, but does he get involved in a world even he can't handle? WantedxJohn Wick crossover. Mild spoilers for the movie, I guess, but if you've seen the trailer then you know the gist. I don't plan on getting into massive movie spoilers.
1. Prologue

Take Me to Church

He pressed himself closer to the pew and ejected the empty clip, flinching at the echo that followed when it hit the cold tile floor. He hissed as he turned to the right. The bleeding wound in his side wouldn't be ignored for long. The fingers of his free hand prodded the gory mess, simply smearing the blood over his skin and clothing.

He poked his head above the pew, just one eye to be able to search the back of the church. He was here somewhere; his opponent was hiding, waiting.

The crunch of glass pulled his attention to the right. He spun, rising to one knee with his arm outstretched, his gun up. He would be ready for whatever came his way.

A flash out of the corner of his eye caused him to spin to the left, his finger pressing the trigger. A curse lit the air as his bullet hit his target.

At least he hoped it did.

The hair on the back of his neck rose, causing him to twist again, ignoring the burst of pain that coursed through his body. He blocked the punch that came his way. He brought his right arm up and fired a shot that his opponent dodged. The man swung his left arm up, the knife aimed at his head.

He blocked the attack, hissing as his forearm took the blade and brought his gun arm up, pointing it toward the ceiling, attempting to put a bullet through the man's chin. The shot went wide as his opponent grabbed his wrist and pushed it aside. The man dropped the knife, delivering a blow to the wound in his side that caused his vision to go dark and one to his cheek.

In a move too fast, remarkably, for even him to follow, his gun was in his foe's hand. He closed his eyes as the gun went off.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: <strong>So this idea popped into my head and would not let me rest (or even write anything else) until it was written. It's not going to be very long, just five or six chapters and each chapter isn't going to be very long either. It's basically just a very long one-shot split up into multiple chapters. I'm finding it easier to write it this way, anyway.

The next chapter is already written and I'll post it next week after I've had a chance to look it over and make it a little bit better. I hope I've intrigued you a little with this prologue and you'll have to let me know what you think!


	2. Worship Like a Dog

Worship Like a Dog

The envelope was pushed under his door; a photo of a nondescript man with longish black hair inside. Dark scruff graced his chin and cheeks, the fuzz standing out against his pale skin. Wesley studied it, a frown on his face. This wasn't someone he knew.

He flipped the photo to look at the back. A name was written in bold letters. John Wick. His brow furrowed; still not someone he knew. The note beneath the name was what caught his attention. _He knew your father._

The only people he knew of that knew his father were Fraternity. And if the man was Fraternity . . .

An ornate gold coin fell to the floor when he moved, the paper it had been in stuck to the lip of the envelope.

Wesley pulled the paper away first. He read the words but again they made no sense. _The Continental_. He stooped to pick up the coin as he puzzled over the photo and note.

He moved to his computer and typed in the name. The only thing that came up of interest was an obituary. Helen Wick. Wesley read through the article but gained no extra information that would help him.

The only thing that came up when he searched for The Continental was an address. He studied it for a moment, turning the coin in his fingers. He still didn't understand why the photo had been given to him but he had one way to find out.

Wesley grabbed his worn leather jacket and pulled it on as he left his apartment.

* * *

><p>The Continental was an ornate building set where one street forked into two. It rose into the sky with more floors then Wesley really cared to count. A valet collected the cars of the impeccably dressed guests that drove up. Most guests carried their own luggage which, in itself, was odd.<p>

Wesley stood across from the hotel, blending in with the crowd and feigning an interest in the magazine he was holding. He was watching, waiting, studying the people as they came and went. His left hand played with the gold coin in his pocket. He still hadn't figured out what it was for, but something told him he shouldn't bring it out in public. The mystery of the hotel in front of him was enough to pique his interest.

Wesley had been there for hours, moving positions so that he didn't seem too suspicious. He never moved far enough away to where he couldn't see the door. He talked, every now and then, with the paper vendor, always giving some excuse or another as to why he was just standing out there.

He always made sure he could see the doorway from the corner of his eye.

* * *

><p>The sun was just setting when he felt he was being watched. The hairs on the back of his neck bristled. Wesley stayed in his relaxed stance, refusing to look up from his magazine as two people walked up behind him, flanking him. He didn't acknowledge them, didn't even look up and offer a small smile as one would do when strangers got too close.<p>

Finally, one touched his elbow. Wesley jumped, turning to face the man with exaggerated wide eyes.

"Boss wants to see you," the man said gruffly.

Wesley glanced at both of them, his eyes flicking up and down. At least four weapons between the two; two gun holsters hiding beneath their suit jackets, the slight bulges at their ankles where knives or guns would be kept. He could have easily taken them out; they didn't pose a problem for him.

But he didn't.

He would wait. He would see where they would take him, who their "boss" was and deal with the rest later.


	3. Shrine of Your Lies

Shrine of Your Lies

He was pushed into the booth, his effects placed on the table and slid toward the second occupant.

The man looked up from his book and took in the items on the table. He picked up the gold coin first, turning it over in his fingers. He pulled the paper with the hotel name on it to him next, followed by the photo.

Guess it was time to play innocent.

"I don't know what I'm doing here," he said, adding a note of panic into his voice.

The man-older, dark hair, small framed glasses- flipped the photo in his fingers, facing the portrait at Wesley. "This is a dangerous item to have," he said, ignoring everything Wesley had just said. "One would wonder why a man such as yourself would be carrying it."

"What do you mean? It's just a picture."

"Ah. A picture, yes, but it's who the picture is of that draws some concern," he placed it back on the table. "And again it begs the question as to why a man such as yourself would have it."

"I don't understand what you mean."

The man leaned back in his seat, staring at Wesley over his glasses. "Take a look around you, sir. Do you see one person here who would seem extraordinary?"

Wesley glanced around the room, noting the way every one of the patrons held themselves. Not one looked to be carrying save for the men and women who he could tell were this club's equivalent of bouncers. His eyes moved back to the gentleman sitting across from him.

"All of them."

A smile appeared on the man's face. "And that is what I mean by a man such as yourself. Tell me, what is it you want with Mr. Wick?"

"To talk."

"No one in this business ever just wants to talk."

"Well, then it's a good thing I'm not in your business."

"I would beg to differ. One does not receive a coin if one is not in the business."

Wesley leaned in, folding his arms on the table. He could feel the men outside of the booth tense. "Those items were slid under my door this morning. I don't know who put them there. I don't really care. I just want to find him so I can talk."

"And your father?"

Wesley shrugged. "The first time I really met him was the day I killed him."

"And you just want to meet a man who knew your father to, what? Catch up on old time?"

"Turns out my father wasn't as bad a guy as I was led to believe. But he's the reason I am who I am. I want to learn more about him from someone who won't lie to me."

"Who's to say Mr. Wick won't lie to you?"

"No one. I'll deal with that when I come to it."

"Who is your father?"

Wesley's eyes bore into the man's as he answered. "Cross."

A flicker of recognition moved across the man's face. "So you are Fraternity."

Wesley pulled back. "You know of the Fraternity?"

"There is very little in this world I don't know. I thought the Fraternity was all but extinguished. I knew some very discreet men who made a lot of money that day."

"I know of one man who lost a lot more."

The man stared at him. "Don't tell me you are the one who took them out?"

Wesley simply nodded. The man let out a deep laugh.

"Unfortunately I cannot give you the information you seek. I honor the privacy of my guests."

"But he's here."

"If I told you that, I would be breaking my own rules."

"Then I'll be out of your hair."

Wesley moved to stand but the two men stepped in his way.

"I never got your name."

Wesley didn't turn from the burly men. "Wesley."

"Well, Wesley, what I can tell you is that John Wick is a man who likes his privacy. Since the death of his wife he has only visited my establishment once. He is not one that forgives easily and I, for one, do not care to piss him off."

"I don't plan to piss him off. I just want to find out how he knew my father."

"Go home, Wesley. Don't show this picture to anyone. There are still some people in this city who would not take kindly to hearing his name. If Mr. Wick wishes to be found, he will be." The man pushed the photo and coin back to Wesley, who grabbed them and stood, tucking them in the inside pocket of his jacket.

He gave a nod of farewell to his cryptic host and moved through the crowd.

* * *

><p>"Winston."<p>

"Good evening to you, Jonathan. I thought you should be aware of a man looking for you."

"Did he say why?"

"To talk."

"Talk. Right."

"That's what I was thinking. Now, I had the young man followed once he left the hotel."

"Where is he?"

"They saw him enter the Hole in the Wall."

"Great. I owe you one."

"And Jonathan?" Winston stopped. "I shouldn't have to say it."

There was a pause. "I always am, Winston."


	4. Tell You My Sins

Tell You My Sins

He picked him out of the crowd as he walked in the bar. The man, the one who had been looking for him, was sitting alone in the corner, his back to the wall so that he could watch the door. His mop of dark hair stood out against his pale skin, almost blending into the shadows of the wall.

John blended into the crowd of dancers, making his way through the shadows, his eyes trained on the young man at the table but his senses were trained on everything else.

The man's head tilted in John's direction as he slipped into the chair across from him but his eyes didn't leave the crowd.

John watched him silently. The man was rolling a beer bottle around in his hands. He was relaxed; more so then a man should be when a stranger moved into his personal space. The man's eyes roamed the crowd, touching on one group or another. He would linger slightly on a group laughing or carrying on loudly, an almost wistful look passing over his face each time.

"You were looking for me," John stated.

The man's eyes finally turned to him. His blue eyes flicked over him, looking him up and down but not moving his head. John had the distinct feeling that he had just been measured by this silent man.

"I have."

"And?"

He shrugged. "I just want to talk."

"I'm familiar with the phrase."

The man chuckled. "So people keep saying. If I'd wanted something else, you wouldn't be here."

The ghost of a smile crossed John's lips. "Then talk."

"I want to know about my father."

John's brow furrowed. "Why would I know your father?"

"I don't know," he reached into his jacket and withdrew an envelope, sliding it across the table to John. "That was slipped under my door. Why, I can't tell you."

John's gaze flicked down to the envelope but he made no move to open it. "Who's your father?"

"Cross."

John's head slanted. "So you're Wesley."

Wesley drew up straight. "So you did know him."

"For a time."

Wesley leaned on his forearms, bringing him closer to John. "Tell me about him."

"Shouldn't you know your own father? If you're looking for me then you know who he was."

"I-" Wesley paused. "I didn't know Cross. As I told the man at the hotel, the day I met Cross was the day I killed him. I was played by the Fraternity. They made me believe that another man was my father and that Cross killed him." He fisted his hands. "They lied to me; used me. And now they're all gone."

"The Fraternity is never gone."

"You know the Fraternity?"

John shrugged. "Everyone knows the Fraternity. They're people you know not to cross unless you absolutely have to."

"Unless you know you can win."

John nodded.

"Then how did you know my father?"

John shrugged again. "I was young. We crossed paths one night and a tense friendship was formed. He taught me a few things; made me better at what I do.

"He didn't talk much but when he did he spoke of you; the son he'd had to leave behind. He said he still watched you but he had no part in your life."

Wesley settled back in his seat, an almost dejected look on his face. "So he trained you."

"A bit."

John could see the conflicted emotions cross the young man's face. It seemed as if he was disappointed in what John had to say. It was clear he had been hoping for more; something that could fill in a part of his life.

"I'm sorry if that's not what you wanted to hear."

Wesley took a swig of his beer, calming his expression. "I can't say what I was hoping to hear," he gave a slight shrug. "Maybe I wasn't expecting anything. The only things I was ever told was how good of a killer he was. Maybe I was hoping you could tell me something different."

"I'm sorry." John remembered Cross vividly. One does not forget a man who could do what he did. The man used a weapon like no one else he had ever seen. As a young man, John had been thoroughly impressed. For a time Cross had shown him some tricks of his trade. He had been a man of few words, perhaps the reason they had gotten along so well since John was the same way, but when he did speak, it was always about his son.

John could see some of Cross in the man sitting across from him. The same world weary expression haunted his features.

Wesley sighed and reached to gather the items on the table. "Then I guess that's it," he nodded at John. "You won't be needing that, then."

The right side of John's lip twitched. His finger moved from the trigger. He'd had the gun in his lap for the duration of the conversation.

It never hurt to be too cautious.

Wesley took the last swig of his beer and placed it on the table. He stood, tugging the flaps of his jacket down. He stopped at John's shoulder, staring out into the throng of people. John tilted his head toward him.

"Thank you," Wesley said after a moment.

John simply nodded and watched as Wesley started to move away.

He felt the hand wrap around the side of his neck, the palm against the back of his neck. John was pulled to the right as two resounding cracks echoed through the room.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: <strong>Happy Thanksgiving to those who celebrate it! Hope you all have a wonderful weekend!


	5. Sharpen Your Knife

Sharpen Your Knife

Wesley saw the little red dots bright against the black of John's back. He wrapped his right hand around the older man's neck and pulled, moving him out of the way as the bullet flew by, lodging in the wall. He reached beneath his jacket and pulled out his own gun, firing it in the direction the first shot had originated. He heard the screams of the people around him as they scattered but pushed them into the background.

Another shot rang out. Wesley barely dodged it, the bullet taking a slice from his shoulder. He pushed to the side, swinging out his arm as his finger pulled on the trigger. The bullet curved through the air, forming a perfect arch around the men and women ducking out of the way.

Even through the clamor of the room Wesley could hear the dull thwack as the bullet lodged itself in the unseen assailant. He launched himself after the man, allowing all the adrenaline in his body to rush through his veins. He dodged around groups, leapt over people that were huddled on the floor.

His opponent didn't even see him coming.

Wesley ran in low; his upper body almost parallel to the ground. He pivoted on his left foot, bring up his right in a perfect swing, his heel connecting with the man's cheek and twisting it to the side. The crack sounded through the bar. The man slumped weightlessly to the ground.

He stood up straight and brought up his left arm, the gun still clenched in his fist. The barrel stopped just as it hit the underside of the new assailants chin. She stopped where she was, her eyes wide, her chin lifted slightly to keep her skin away from the still hot barrel.

She glared down at him. "Do it," she sneered.

"Who are you?"

"Why the fuck would I tell you?"

The sound of a gun clicking pulled Wesley's eyes away from the woman. John stood behind her, a gun resting just at the crown of her head.

"Hello Thompkins."

"John."

"Never thought I'd see you in a place like this."

Thompkins sneered. "You'd be surprised where I'd go for four million."

"Who put it out?" He asked.

"I'm not tellin' you shit."

Wesley stepped closer to her, almost pressing his chest to hers, digging the barrel of his gun deeper into her skin. "I think you will."

"I'm not afraid of you, pretty boy." She spat.

Wesley could hear the sirens in the distance. They needed to hurry this up.

Thompkins took advantage of the momentary distraction the sirens provided. She wrapped her fingers around Wesley's wrist and pulled down, raising her leg at the same time. Her knee connected with his side as the gun was pulled to rest against her shoulder. She ducked her head away from John's gun as her thumb found the trigger of Wesley's. She grit her teeth as the gun went off, the bullet tearing through her shoulder and exiting through the back.

She pushed Wesley and swung her left leg back; knowing John would have ducked to dodge the shot. He blocked her attack and lunged at her. Thompkins danced out of his range. She bolted past Wesley before he could reach for her and ran from the bar.

She knew when she was outmatched. The stories of John Wick, the _baba yaga_, were legendary. And combined with this new man . . . she knew she wouldn't have won.

Thompkins ducked into an alley as the police cars screeched to a halt outside of the Hole in the Wall.

* * *

><p>Wesley stood up straight, a frown on his face, and tucked his gun back in the waist band of his jeans. A twinge caused him to remember the wound on his shoulder. He turned his head to see the wound and pulled his shirt aside. The gash was just on the trapezius muscle between his neck and shoulder. It only looked to be a surface wound but blood covered his chest. It wasn't one he was going to be able to handle on his own.<p>

"Shit."

The sound of a ringing phone reminded him he wasn't alone.

John crouched in front of the dead hit man, rifling through his jacket and pockets. He pulled the gun from the man's hand and tucked it in the back of his pants. He pocketed the man's phone as well.

"You going to answer that?" Wesley asked, indicating John's own ringing phone.

John lifted it to his ear but said nothing. He listened silently and then grunted an affirmative, hanging up soon after.

He stood but didn't turn to face Wesley. "Come on. I have someone who can look at that."

Wesley followed him out the back door just as the cops showed up at the front.

* * *

><p>The small man was hunched over Wesley's shoulder with a needle. Glasses rested just on the tip of his nose and a simple bow tie graced his neck. Whiskey had been offered to him to dull the pain but he'd declined. It really wasn't that bad anyway.<p>

"Should we really just be sitting here?" Wesley asked, eyeing the window he sat in front of warily.

John had brought them back to The Continental. They were currently sitting in a room, a doctor sewing up his wound. John looked up from the phone he was going through.

"We're safer here than anywhere else."

Wesley twitched as the doctor hit a nerve. He shot him a glare. "How is that even possible?"

John set the phone down and sat back in his chair. "The rules," he stated. "No one breaks the rules."

"And the rules are . . .?"

"No business is conducted on hotel property," the doctor said, not looking up from his work. Finally he gave one last tug and cut off the end. "You should be fine. I would say not to overuse your arm but I have a feeling you would ignore me."

Wesley rotated his shoulder, wincing as pain coursed through him. "I've had worse."

The doctor nodded as he left, closing the door quietly behind him. Wesley turned his attention back to John. He was still sitting at the table, scrolling through whatever messages he found. He seemed completely unconcerned that two people had just tried to kill them. Just what, exactly, had his life been like?

"Find anything?"

"He was Russian."

"That's helpful."

"Actually, it is."

John stood and handed the phone to Wesley. He looked at it curiously. He didn't understand any of it.

"I don't understand."

"It's a kill order," John responded. "High up. They were coming for me. You just happened to be in the way."

"That's what Thompkins meant by four million," he paused, studying John as he stared out the window. "What're we going to do?"

John shrugged and pulled on his jacket. "Take care of it."

* * *

><p>"I found him."<p>

"Is it done?"

Thompkins shook her head, her right hand holding a cloth to her left shoulder, trying to stem the blood flow. "No. He had help."

The man flipped his hand. "And you did not take care of them because. . . ?"

Thompkins straightened. "It's Wesley Gibson."

He scowled. "Why should I care about this Wesley Gibson?"

"He's Fraternity."

He scoffed. "The Fraternity is gone."

"The Fraternity is never gone."

"Fine. Four million if someone brings me his head, too. Send a squad after them, as well. Let's see how well they fare against my top men."

Thompkins snorted. She had a feeling they'd fare just fine. "They're at The Continental."

He laughed. "Can't stay in there forever. We will wait. And when they leave," he slammed his fist down on the table, causing it to shudder, "we will be rid of them. Send the team. Smoke them out. Or so to speak."

Thompkins stayed quiet but nodded. Why thought anything he could do would change the inevitable outcome was beyond her. But she would do what he said. What happened after would entirely be his fault.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: <strong>I am so sorry this is a day late. I wasn't really liking this portion but was finally able to get it to where I semi-liked it. I hope you did too.


	6. Offer Me That Deathless Death

Offer Me That Deathless Death

John flexed his arms. The man's neck snapped and he slid lifelessly to the floor. John threw himself to the side as a bullet whizzed by, followed by two more pops.

He leaned over the top of the pew and fired off two quick shots. Before he could duck back down, a hand fisted into his jacket, pulling him out into the aisle.

John rolled with the pull, twisting from his assailant's grasp. He kicked out his legs, sweeping his opponent's feet out from under them. He leveled his gun at the other man, firing one shot into the man's forehead.

A gun went off at the front of the church, drawing John's attention. A second shot sounded a minute later. He watched Wesley lose his gun, which was amazing considering who he was, and watched Wesley's opponent raise the gun to him.

John flipped back, pushing to his feet as a shot sounded throughout the church.

* * *

><p>Blood splattered on his face. Wesley opened his eyes just in time to see the man crumple to the floor. He snatched the gun from the dead man's hand and fired three shots. Three men fell to the floor; one man facing Wesley, the other two had been moving toward John.<p>

Wesley finally took a deep breath as he surveyed the church. Men, and even some women, were sprawled around; some on the floor, draped over pews and hanging from the balcony above. None that he could see were still alive. Save for one.

And John was staring at her.

* * *

><p>John twisted, his arm coming up, his gun ready. Thompkins stood a few feet behind him, her gun still in her hand. Her eyes were on him even though her gun was not. She was trying to hide it, but he could tell she was favoring her left shoulder where she'd been shot.<p>

Thompkins loosened her grip on the gun and allowed it to dangle from her thumb as she raised her hands to shoulder level.

"You know it's just a job, John."

"A job I'd heard you'd retired from."

She shrugged. "Same could be said for you. But you killed a lot of people, John. You know he couldn't just let that slide."

"And his best idea was to hunt me down?"

"Well, and him," she answered, nodding at Wesley.

"What the hell did I do?" Wesley asked, coming up behind John.

"You're with him for one. For two, you really think the Fraternity didn't have connections? It's payback plain and simple."

John shook his head. "Viggo didn't have connections with Sarantino."

Thompkins gave a harsh laugh. "You were gone for five years. A lot happens in five years. Iosef and Sarantino's daughter had a fling. She was smitten. And you know how Sarantino is with his daughter. He'd burn the world for her."

"You're pretty chatty." Wesley cut in.

Thompkins looked at him. "The way I figure it, I'm your best bet to get Sarantino to call off the hit. I can get you in and you can have a _civilized_ chat with him yourself."

Wesley grabbed her injured shoulder and twisted her around. He ignored the hiss she let out as he pushed her forward. "Yeah. Civilized is exactly what we'll be."

* * *

><p>Sarantino jerked awake as the doors to his bedroom were thrown open. The two men guarding his room dropped to the floor. Anger flared as he looked up from his dead guards.<p>

"Who the hell-?"

A bullet lodged into his headboard an inch from his ear.

"We're going to talk." John interrupted.

Wesley pushed a woman into the room. She stumbled and fell to the floor. He pointed his gun at her, the barrel hovering directly between her eyes. Sarantino pushed up in his bed, moving to go to her side but John's gun trained on him dissuaded him.

"All civilized like." Wesley seconded.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: <strong>Sorry it's been a couple weeks. Christmas is a crazy time for me and I wasn't able to get much written during it. Things have slowed down a little so it was easier for me to get stuff done. Hope you enjoy! The next chapter will be the last and hopefully I'll have it up quicker than I did this one.


	7. Let Me Give You My Life

Let Me Give You My Life

Wesley twisted to the side, testing the movement of his stitched up side. He winced a bit as he pulled on his jacket, the stitches pulling at the move, and left the room, locking the door behind him.

His eyes followed a blond woman as she walked down the hall. She smiled politely at him, her red lips curving in a sensual curl, even as she sized him up. Wesley nodded in response, a small smile curling his lips. Man this was an interesting hotel. The amount of professional killers that he had seen in the last forty-eight hours amazed him. Surprising considering he'd taken out a building full of killers by himself.

The way this world worked confused him. He was used to secrets. He understood not announcing to the world who you were and what you could do. He understood the camaraderie among like minded people. He understood working among other men and women.

But here . . .

Here they were cordial but nothing else. And Wesley could tell that was only because of the Rules of the Continental. He had already seen what they would do to each other outside of the hotel.

Not that the Fraternity had really been any different. If one of their names had been given, they'd be dead within twenty-four hours.

Wesley stopped at the front desk, offering a smile to the manager.

"Good morning, Mr. Gibson."

"Morning."

"Checking out?"

"I guess I am." He held up the gold coin he had been given and slid it across the desk.

The manager took it with a smile and a nod. "It was a pleasure having you stay with us. Perhaps we will be seeing you again?"

"Perhaps."

* * *

><p>John stood outside of the hotel, waiting for his car to be pulled around. He wiped his hand down his face, mindful of the cuts and bruises he'd received in the church. Sarantino's men sure as hell hadn't gone down easy. But it was over.<p>

At least until Sarantino got it in his head that it was worth it to try again.

John really hoped it wouldn't be any time soon.

"Beautiful morning."

John turned his head. He looked the young man standing next to him up and down. It was an understatement that he looked a little worse for wear. He gestured at Wesley's side. "You going to be okay?"

Wesley shrugged. "I'll take care of it."

"I'm sure you will." He paused, figuring out what he wanted to say next. "It was . . . good working with you Wesley. I'm not sure I could have finished it on my own."

Wesley snorted. "I seriously doubt that but I appreciate that." He slapped his hand on John's back. "It was good working with you too. But now, I have somewhere else to be."

He nodded across the street, raising his arm in greeting. A woman on the other side of the street lifted her right arm, her left bandaged and in a sling. Even from this distance John could see a bullet scar resting next to the strap of her shirt. Her long black hair was pulled up in a high ponytail.

John stood up straighter as recognition sunk in. "Thompkins."

Wesley's hand touched John's arm. "Not exactly, but close enough. She's a friend."

"A friend who tried to kill you."

Wesley laughed. "It wouldn't be the first time." He turned to John and extended his right hand. "It was good meeting you John. Maybe next time it won't be under such intense circumstances."

John shook his hand. "I'm sorry I couldn't give you more information about Cross."

"It's fine. I appreciate what you could tell me."

A sleek black car pulled up in front of them, a young man in a uniform getting out of the driver's side. He handed the keys to John and took his suitcase, placing it in the trunk. John paid him and the man walked off.

"I guess this is where we part ways. She's waiting for me anyway. Be seeing you."

Wesley walked around the front of the car, John following close behind. John stopped before he got in his car.

"Wesley?"

Wesley turned toward him, one foot on the curb. "Yeah?"

"Good luck."

Wesley simply smiled and turned away. He stopped in front of Thompkins, or whatever her real name was, and wrapped his hand around the back of her neck, drawing her face down to his.

John watched as they walked away, Wesley poking her in the shoulder and her taking a swing at him. John smiled, remembering a better time. Maybe the world wasn't all that bad.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: <strong>And that's the end! Thanks for reading!


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